Get Over It
by The Brat Prince
Summary: Oliver Wood is one of the ministry's top aurors in the six years' war. (it takes place six years after bk 4) He is told he has to rescue Percy Weasley from Azkaban. OW/MF, RW/DM


Get Over It

By: The Brat Prince

A/N- When you leave school, there's a whole new path ahead of you that you never could have realized. Some people find adventure, some happiness, but most find a stuffy office and a hectic work day. But what happens when old acquaintances meet up five years later, in the midst of a war? Some things aren't quite what they expected. ~Moony

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would have been in the movies. I would have made a great chaser. Or maybe Penelope…except I don't like her…Obviously, the charas aren't mine.

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            The dark sky suited his mood. Clouds hung low and close to newer buildings, constructed to touch the sky. It was so like muggles to do that. To think they're god's chosen ones and try so desperately to reach the heavens. Damned skyscrapers were nothing but a bloody eyesore. 

            It was a good thing though, in some ways. That muggles could be so ignorant. Otherwise they might have noticed the war being waged around them. And the ministry could not have that. There weren't enough memory charms in the world to convince a muggle who's relative was just killed by an Avada Kedavra curse that nothing had happened, it was a heart attack. 

            Luckily for them Voldemort wasn't up to the genocide of muggles. Yet. Not until he wiped out the ministry. Especially the aurors. Oliver had to wonder if he'd chosen the right profession. He was a bit of a coward, at least in his mind. He didn't want to be captured and tortured or killed. No one did, he imagined. That was why Voldemort's ranks had grown so quickly over the past six years. He had over a thousand wizards working for him, seducing others into joining him or killing off his enemies. Some of them were his old friends, schoolmates, even a few relatives.

            They were all bloody tossers. Every one of them. If Oliver was a coward, he didn't even know what to call them. He stood up to his fear every day, banishing the Unforgivable Curses they'd thrown at him, throwing a good amount in Azkaban. Even old friends.

            He didn't feel much guilt, he reflected, as he gazed out the ministry window at the fat, wet droplets falling from the sky. The clouds looked like they were ready to explode. Every time something in his heart started to twinge at the look in an old friend's eye when they were lead away by the dementors or killed at his hands was, 'and how many wizards have you killed? How many witches have lost their sons because of you? Did they deserve death or pain? Did they deserve to suffer?' 

            The ministry had changed since Voldemort's first attack. Cornelius Fudge was dead, replaced by a man who had no idea what he was doing. He had fancied negotiations with Voldemort. Oliver had fancied slitting his throat and throwing him into Azkaban. And that had been back in his Quidditch days, back when Puddlemere United was so close to the championships and the draft for Aurors hadn't even been thought of yet. 

            One man had saved the ministry. Albus Dumbledore. In some ways, many men hated him. He had been the one to implement the wizarding drafts, the one who said that every father who's son wasn't a Deatheater and was able to hold a wand had to fight. If not as an auror, then as an office jockey in the ministry. It was a good idea, really. Even if it was against all of Oliver's principles at the time. Now he saw the brilliance in that move. Dumbledore had given them a fighting chance. 

            It wasn't like those drafted had anywhere else to go. Beauxbatons, as well as most of the other wizarding schools, had been destroyed. Hogwarts of course was closed. After the death of Harry Potter and with the departure of Dumbledore, there was really no reason the board could find to keep the place open against the protests of protective parents. Quidditch became a dead sport. Voldemort wasn't about to let the wizarding world have its entertainment- that was the first to go. Really, the only way to escape the draft and continue living a normal life was to perform a memory charm on yourself and become a muggle. 

            "Mr. Wood, you seem occupied." Oliver jumped at the sound of Dumbledore's voice. It seemed so old, so weary. He didn't seem like the man who could protect an entire school anymore. It didn't seem like he had the power to protect himself. 

            "Not at all sir. I was just, uh, thinking." His face colored slightly, something that happened rarely since the beginning of the war.

            "Thinking, that's good. That's all I used to wish from you," He sighed, eyes tired, "But now Mr. Wood is not the time to think. It's the time to fight."

            "Ah, yes sir. I was wondering what you called me here about." He was fidgeting, and Oliver didn't like to fidget. He ran a strong, slender hand through his thick brown hair. It had grown a bit since the old days, but so had he. Sometimes it was hard to think he wasn't a child anymore, but this wasn't the time.

            "Mr. Wood- Oliver. Voldemort is getting stronger and stronger as this war continues. We, on the other hand, are growing weaker. We've lost more good witches and wizards than we care to admit. Did you know half of the children who attended Hogwarts in your year are dead? And a quarter have gone to the dark lord? Some of them I never expected to make it, like Ms. Clearwater. It was a shame she had to get caught up in that ordeal in Surrey. Some of them I knew would join Voldemort. Your Mr. Flint, for instance," Oliver bared his teeth, but only slightly, "And then some were surprises, for sure. Mr. Weasley, that one I didn't expect." 

            "It was a shock." Oliver nodded. Percy Weasley, deatheater. Somehow, that one still didn't sound right. It didn't matter, Percy was in Azkaban with the rest of him. Oliver would never see him again. As for Marcus- that man was like a shadow. He slipped past him at every turn. Oliver had been pursuing him for three years, and still hadn't caught up to him yet. It was kind of like their last game of Quidditch. 

            "The assignment, Mr. Wood, actually involves Mr. Weasley. And Mr. Malfoy. You remember him?"

            "Annoying little prat with bleached hair and an attitude? Nearly got me with an avada kedavra a few years back. He may be stupid, but he's quite the wizard."

            Dumbledore smiled good-naturedly, "Yes, I believe we're thinking of the same Mr. Malfoy."

            "So how does this involve Malfoy and Percy? I can't quite see either of them working together, plus their both in Azkaban…" Oliver's curiosity was definitely perked.

            He held up a hand, "It also involves Mr. Weasley's youngest brother, Ronald. And one other person, but I think I'll decline to tell you his name for the moment, as it seems your brain is on overload."

            "Ron? Last I heard he was helping to organize the resistance." Dumbledore was right, Oliver's mind was racing, but he couldn't make sense of what he was given.

            "Quite right. Mr. Weasley has some talent in that area, and we never even knew." For a second there was a sparkle in his eyes, "He never knew it, but in school, there were times he could outshine Mr. Potter in charisma. Which is a trait you need in a good leader." Then it vanished, replaced with grim determination.

            "What we want you to do, Mr. Wood is break Mr. Weasley's brother out of Azkaban."

            "You can't be serious. He killed five people!" Six years ago, if you told Oliver he would be an auror, he would have laughed in your face. If you told him his best friend would become a Death eater in Azkaban, he might have punched you. If you told him that he was the one who put Percy in there, he most likely would have called the ministry police to have you shipped off to a mental institution, or a nice cozy muggle place, like Borstal, where the happy juvenile delinquents could pound your mind in and perhaps straighten it out. 

            He never would have believed he wouldn't have wanted to save Percy, "I am quite aware of that Mr. Wood. He killed Ms. Clearwater, he killed Ms. Bell and Ms. Livia Paitnel, and then there was Mr. Thomas and Mr. Christian Maddock. Three were my own students. But it has come to my attention that Mr. Weasley might be innocent." 

            "Then why is he in Azkaban? Headmast- I mean, Mr. Dumbledore- I caught him. He had his wand in his hand and he said 'Avada Kedavra'. Isn't that evidence enough against him? You really believe I would testify against my best friend if I didn't believe deep in my heart that he was guilty, no matter how much it hurt me?"

            "No, I don't believe you would. But what I'm asking you to do is believe that he's innocent. Trust in me, Mr. Wood. I've been doing this much longer than you."

            "Fine. I'll take the assignment."

            "Splendid. Now, did I mention you have to free Mr. Malfoy as well?" He gave Oliver his sunniest smile. 

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A/N- No idea where this fic is going cept that its MF/OW, RW/DM, and Percy/? I dunno yet. Interesting…


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